


Study in Scarlet

by etherati



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Blushing, Dan's List of Kinks, Established Relationship, Humiliation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 15:16:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3901030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etherati/pseuds/etherati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red is a terrible color on redheads, but as far as Dan's concerned, it suits Rorschach just fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Study in Scarlet

**Author's Note:**

> KM prompt: Dan loves to make Rorschach blush.

*  
  
There are a lot of ways to shock Rorschach, to color him in lust and shame at a single word or move or touch. He’s prudish and prim and even as they finally give in to each other’s needs, start learning each other’s bodies by rote, it’s an easy thing to do.  
  
*  
  
“God, Rorschach.” Dan shimmies his hips back, spreading his legs further, trying to get more. He feels split in half already, taken fast and carelessly and it’s all he ever wants, Rorschach feeling huge and relentless inside him, Rorschach’s hands shaking on his hips. They’re usually silent, but now the words have found their crack, are flooding out. “Fuck me, man, just…  _god_ , just fucking wreck me, please, you feel so  _good_ …”  
  
Movement behind him stills, a breath catching in shock, and the fingers on his hips grow hot. When Dan looks back, Rorschach’s face is beet red for all that his expression hasn’t changed, is still all stony seriousness.  
  
Dan groans, isn’t sure why. Licks his lips.   
  
“I love this, you know that?” he says, “Your cock in me,” and somehow Rorschach manages to dig up a color even redder than red. He ignores it; snaps his hips forward hard enough that Dan sees stars and can’t find any more words, filthy or otherwise.  
  
*  
  
He holds Rorschach’s head in place, fingers dug into his hair and the line of his skull, and rocks into his mouth until Rorschach sputters and chokes and flushes in humiliation even as he swallows Dan down, takes him as deep as he’ll go.  
  
His cheeks are hot under Dan’s stroking thumbs, but that only makes it better and he doesn’t stop.  
  
*  
  
One finger, two, sucked in and fucked along his tongue, self-indulgent moan forming around them.   
  
“Daniel,” comes the voice from above him, and he stretches his tongue, slicking over Rorschach’s palm. The voice dissolves into incoherency. When he opens his eyes, Dan knows they must be dark, heavy-lidded, and he circles the fingertips with his tongue, makes obscenely wet noises.  
  
Rorschach looks down at him, freckles dark against the reddened skin.  
  
He still manages to thrust his fingers hard into Dan’s mouth, to make him choke and whine, and Dan’s got his hand in his pants but even if he hadn’t he thinks he would have come then, Rorschach’s furious defiance burning through the shame.  
  
*  
  
“You know,” Dan says, on one corner or another; he’s lost track of the exact street, and they haven’t had to call a location in for hours. He's certainly not going to call in the last 'crime' they'd busted up, a public indecency case, and he still can't stop thinking about the way they had braced themselves, just within reach.... “Those two might’ve had the right idea.”  
  
“Fornicating in public,” Rorschach growls and god, he’s so predictable.  
  
“I didn’t mean that part.”  
  
“Propose prostitution as a valid career path, Nite Owl?”  
  
Dan laughs, because really, he could have scripted this out ahead of time. “No, I just think there’s value to be found in learning from others’ expertise.”  
  
A shuffling silence in reply, heavy.  
  
“You know, like there’s fighting techniques for people who are a lot smaller than their opponents, too?”  
  
There it is: The tight pooling of ink, swimming through the latex, spreading and gathering over cheeks, ears. It’s a ‘face’ that Dan’s come to recognize, to relish.  
  
“It’s applicable, is all I’m saying!” he calls after Rorschach’s hastily retreating back, laughing.  
  
*  
  
“You’re beautiful,” he says, hand in the middle of Rorschach’s bare back while Rorschach squirms under him. He’d tell Dan it was a lie but Dan doesn’t mean the kind of  _beautiful_  that gets people on magazine covers, that kind of vacuous simplicity of form than most men seem to lust after. He’s talking about the beauty of twisted iron or knotty old worked wood, and Rorschach’s poetry in motion is the brief, violent verse they don’t teach in schools. He is beautiful because he’s art, rough and unique and always willing to bend himself to Dan’s hands.  
  
Under his palm, this canvas paints itself, a hot flush of red that runs up his neck, down his thighs, and Dan rocks shallowly against him. He’s not inside yet but isn’t sure he needs to be, the sweaty-slick tightness between them making him feel like he’s already close to breaking. One hand on his back becomes both, and Dan leans in, all his considerable weight on Rorschach’s hips and shoulderblades, to breathe a hot sigh of air over the back of his neck.  
  
Heat blossoms in his wake. “Just, fucking beautiful,” he says again, and Rorschach moans brokenly, turns his head to look at Dan over his shoulder and his ragged, time-worn face is flushed bright with disbelief and uncertainty. A little scandalized by the profanity. Completely overwhelmed, even if he obviously doesn’t understand.  
  
Dan licks the corner of his jaw, laves over the hot line of his cheekbone and bites his mouth, and decides that of all the tools at his disposal, this— this is his favorite.  
  
*


End file.
